


Feels Like A Dream | dnf

by ataylorc



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Coming Out, DNF, Denial, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, High School, Little Bit O Angst, M/M, Minecraft, Streaming, bookshop george, dream team, dreamnotfound, flerting, idk what to put for this, please don’t judge this i’m trying, rebellious teens lol, time jumps, wholesome shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26261290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ataylorc/pseuds/ataylorc
Summary: George was who he was because of Clay. He was his best friend since he could remember, someone he could lean on over anything. Someone he could tell anything to. Until everything changed. Until George left. Until he found him again.
Relationships: dreamnotfound - Relationship
Comments: 50
Kudos: 588





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> note—  
> I do not ship dream and george in real life, this is absolutely fiction! these characters are separate from them as people, they are just based off of them and elaborated by me to form a plot. thank you for choosing to read my work, i hope you enjoy <3
> 
> *strong language used*

George and Clay had been inseparable since they met on the first day of third grade. 

The playground was crowded with kids playing with their friends; some grouped on the basketball court in an effort to shoot baskets on a hoop twice their size, and some swung along on the monkey bars, giggling with each other like they’d been together since birth. And truthfully, most of them had in their tiny Floridian town. In places like these, everyone knows everybody, and nobody talks to anyone they don’t know. That’s why George sat alone, swinging his legs off the metal bench looking out across the courtyard, eating his yogurt-covered raisins in silence. Staring into his lap, he felt like running away and hiding under the slide hearing his classmates giggle with one another in the summer sun. This definitely wasn’t the way he wanted his first day of public school to go. And especially not the way his parents made it seem when they first told him he’d be leaving his close-knit group of friends in London. It’s not fair, George thought, tears filling his beady brown eyes, I want to go home. He was just about to take up the idea of retreating under the slide when a pair of dirty sneakers appeared atop blades of grass in front of his perfectly white ones. George looked up, squinting from the blazing sun to focus his eyes upon his strange rescuer. When his salty eyes eventually cleared, a ball of light blonde hair formed against the blue sky, a boyish freckled face below it.

“Hi,” the boy says, “I’m Clay.”

And that’s how their story began.

Ever since that sunny day on the elementary playground, Clay had remained George’s closest, and one of his only, friends in their small town. They ate together at lunch and played together till sunset. They looked for each other for partner projects and never failed to join the same team in PE. And when they forgot about fairy tale twig duels and pretend backyard adventures, their friendship remained tightly knit through the many challenges of growing up. Both felt as though they always had someone to lean on, someone to call home when times got rough. Clay was George’s person, and George his. Everything fell into place when it came to them. But only until their puzzle pieces were shifted by something greater than they’d ever imagined.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee and delectable pastries flowed through the cool air of the bookshop as George ran his fingers along worn spines of literature. Scanning the isles for authors’ last names, he gently placed books in their rightful homes atop rich wooden shelves. The store was near empty today as rain pattered the windows, sending drops of water off on their races against each other to the bottom. The late evening sun, diffused by saddened clouds, filtered through foggy windows, allowing the store to be lit by soft warm lamplight. These were the days George lived for; the days that allowed him to think, to daydream about the life he wished he had.

In all honesty, George loved the quaint bookshop he worked at. The quiet atmosphere comforted him and allowed him to bask in creativity when the customers cleared for the day. He always loved reading, mostly because he could live in a life that was not his own for a little while. And working this job gave him access to all the fictional excitement he could imagine. The worst part about it was that he eventually had to snap back into his own reality and scan spines of fresh new stories for arriving customers. 

But George’s dream world surprisingly did not consist of mythical creatures and magical spells he reveled about in Harry Potter, or the rural 1800s American countryside told of in Little Women. In truth, he longed to become a content creator like those he looked up to online. He’d loved video games ever since his brother introduced them to him when he was a little kid, and he felt natural behind a camera, like he was just talking to a friend. But in reality, he never imagined he could ever pursue those burning aspirations. No matter how bad he wanted it, he couldn’t bring himself to click “go live” and break the wall that his parents previously built in his mind.

“It will never be long term,” they told him one night after he’d told them that he wanted a new computer for Christmas his sophomore year. His mother and father were never on board with the whole social media thing, even when George started high school where everyone had it. So of course they would never agree with their son talking to strangers online and playing video games for a living. That night he ran to his room and cried like he’d never cried before under the weight of his crushed dreams. And from that moment on he watched from afar as his best friend lived the life he would give anything to have.

Daylight began to dim as the rain continued to fall from the night sky, making the bookshop even cozier. Picking up his current novel of the week, George perched himself on the windowsill in the corner of the shop behind a row of bookshelves that blocked the view of the entryway. This was his usual spot around closing time as customers were few and his attention wasn’t needed much. The spine of the book crinkled above his legs, straightened and propped out in front of him so that he could gaze at the trickling rain to his right. He became entranced within the words on cream-colored pages as the night became clear, silence working its way into the store after the coffee shop closed.

What seemed like an hour passed before George picked up his phone and checked the time: 9:30 on the dot. He made his rounds across the first floor and then the second, picking up stray books and placing them in the bin by the register for tomorrow’s afternoon chores. With his back turned to the front door, he packed up his backpack, mustard yellow in color. Right as the last zipper was secured shut, a chime rang through the shop followed by footsteps along the creaking wooden floor.

“Sorry, we closed at 9:30,” George begins, accent smooth and clear, back still turned as he slings his bag around his shoulders, “but we open at 7:30 tomorrow morning.”

“I was just needing to drop a book off, no purchases.”

George stopped dead in his place when he heard that familiar warm, deep voice. The same one he listened to every time he had nothing to do after work, or when he needed something to make him feel better on his worst days. The one that inspired him more than anything in the world. The one he hadn’t heard in person since four years ago.

Holding his breath, George turned his head to the side, feeling like he would wake up from this dream any second now. He furrowed his brow and turned entirely, facing the customer he swore he knew already.

“Clay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiiiiii! so i started this story kinda spontaneously and it's going to be more of a longer work! hopefully i stay motivated to keep this going :)) anyways i hope you guys liked this first chapter! it was more of a short one to get the introduction going; don't worry, more things will be explained as the story progresses! thanks for reading <3  
> *just a warning: strong language will be used in this story*


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the shorter chapter again!! i'm going to try to update regularly, maybe every other day since i've been busy! i hope y'all have been enjoying it so far, thank you for the kudos <33

_“Clay?”_

_George placed his pencil down on the wooden desk of his friend’s room, annoyed that he was the only one making an effort to complete their science project for school._

_“You do know this is due tomorrow, right?” George asked, voicing his disapproval of Clay’s absent-mindedness. He twirled his own pencil between his fingers, staring down at it with a hazy gaze. George reached over to Clay who was seated across from him to his right and irritatedly flicked his arm._

_Clay’s mind snapped back to reality at this and he immediately rubbed the point of contact through his sweatshirt. “Ow!” He exclaimed, “what the hell, George!”_

_George rolled his eyes, “shut up, it wasn’t that hard.” He picked his pencil back up, readying to start working again. “We have to finish this, and I’m the only one doing the work.”_

_“No you’re not,” Clay started, “I’ve been working this whole time.”_

_This earned another eye roll. “Yeah right,” George sighed, “you haven’t written a word in the last five minutes.” He motioned to his friend’s near-blank sheet of notebook paper. “What’s with you today?”_

_Clay brushed this off. “I’m fine,” he said, returning to his writing, “just tired.”_

_This, of course, was a lie. In truth, Clay was burnt out. He didn’t want to keep up the good student persona that consisted of good grades, sports participation, and respect of authority. Honestly, he thought those things were stupid. And he wanted to get out._

_Ever since he started Youtube, he’d hated school. But not only did he hate school, he hated the way people thought they could control his life. His parents especially. If he could make enough money to support himself―buy an apartment, car, food, and many many other things―why did he have to keep living with his family and keep doing whatever his mom and dad wanted him to do? This was the question that roamed around Clay’s head almost every second of the day since he started making money off of the videos he made. And that same question distracted him the most from school, and currently, his best friend._

_George knew he was lying when Clay made his excuse, but he didn’t want to press because he knew how Clay could get. He did, however, feel a slight pang in his gut from a feeling that was creeping into his mind day by day._

_He chewed on the inside of his cheek, gazing at this friend who continued writing vocabulary words on his paper. For the past few weeks, worry had worked its way into George’s mind for one reason only: he was scared his best friend was drifting away from him. On the nights they used to stay up on call, goofing around playing games, Clay started telling George, “I gotta record, maybe tomorrow?” But tomorrow came, and the next excuse was “Dude, I have to edit, I’m just really busy.”_

_Ever since Clay had started this YouTube thing, George felt like he was being forgotten about. And the jealousy that crept into his mind didn’t spur from the success he saw his friend receive, but from the decreasing time he spent with George. And the happiness he saw it give him._

_It wasn’t long before the clock on George’s phone read 9 pm and both boys were finally finished with their project._

_“We better get a good grade on this,” Clay said after yawning and stretching in his seat. He began packing up his pens and pencils into his backpack._

_“Yeah,” George agreed, “even though I did most of the work.” He shot his friend a sly smile._

_“You did not,” Clay retorted. George just laughed at his stubbornness. They rolled up their creation on a poster board sheet and made their way downstairs._

_“I’ll see you tomorrow, thanks for working late with me,” George said to his friend, opening the front door for him._

_“Yeah, no problem,” Clay replied, turning and heading out, “See you.”_

George missed those nights. Not having to care about anything except school the next day. Not worrying about if the other felt the same way. Not hating the flutter in his chest whenever he saw him. Still having him in his life as his best friend and nothing more. But everything was different now. And it would never, ever be the same.

That’s why George’s heart stopped the second he heard that voice in the bookshop. The last time that voice spoke to him was the worst day of his life, and everything came rushing back. So fast he didn’t know if he could handle it.

“Clay?”

There was a silence; confusion for one, a mix of shock and horror for the other. All that could be heard was the soft bustle on the street outside, fading with the passing hours. George didn’t know what to do; he’d already exposed his knowledge of the costumer, so there was no way of getting out of this. He kicked himself for speaking the name into existence.

Finally the younger man broke the fragile silence which, to George, seemed louder than a freight train.

“How do you know my name?”

George didn’t expect Clay to know his voice. He wasn’t the one who made videos for millions of people.

“I...um...” George trailed off. He truly didn’t know how to handle this situation. So he just said, fuck it, and turned around. The minute he did this he knew he was in for it. He immediately met his former best friend’s deep green eyes, the same ones he’d looked into for 9 years. His hair wasn’t cut short like it used to be, blonde waves flowing above his face. The most notable feature was how tall he’d gotten.

George couldn’t breathe. He’d wanted to see his friend again sometime in his life, but he hadn’t imagined it would feel like this.

Clay seemed almost as shocked as George was. His jaw dropped slightly, marveling at the sight of his seemingly long-lost best friend. He tried to find the words to express his bursting emotions that were a mix of relief, awkwardness, and utter shock, but all he could muster was:

“George?”

Both boys stared at each other, unsure of how to act. After a few uncomfortable moments, George glanced down at the book Clay was holding in his right hand, the one he assumed he was returning. It was a small book with the words, Collection of Poems from Emily Dickinson. This brought back more memories of his friend being entranced in literature, often opting for that over schoolwork or even video games.

How hadn’t he seen him here before? George worked most of the shifts here at the bookshop, so he must’ve come early in the morning.

The brown haired boy cleared his throat awkwardly. “I can take that book for you.” He reaches out a shaky hand. Clay looks down at his book, seemingly remembering why he came there in the first place.

“O-Oh,” he stutters, “right.” He takes a few steps on the creaky floor towards the register desk. He places the book into George’s outstretched hand, taking extra care as to prevent his fingers from brushing the other boy’s. The silence returned as George slides the small book into the returns basket. Both avoid the others’ eyes, George fiddling with his jacket zipper and Clay studying the worn floorboards.

George didn’t want Clay to leave, but he didn’t want to speak to him. He knew what both options would do to his heart. He weighed the consequences of both and threw caution to the wind.

“How’ve you been?” He asked carefully.

This brought Clay’s eyes upward in an instant. He was astonished that the shy boy he used to know would start a conversation with him, especially considering how they hadn’t spoken in nearly four years.

“I, uh...good,” Clay stammers, obviously not prepared for this conversation. “I’ve been good. How about you?”

Now it was George’s turn to be undoubtedly unprepared. “Me too,” he replies quickly. More awkward silence. George resumes fiddling with his zipper.

Clay didn’t know whether to continue an effort to converse with his ex-best friend, or to leave it at that and let him alone. Memories of their last conversation before parting―what they thought would be for forever―came rushing back into his mind. He chewed on his bottom lip, waiting for George to determine the outcome of this unexpected reunion.

“Long time no see, I guess.”

The chocolate-haired boy breaks the dead air. There was an oxymoronic mix of sadness and optimism laced in his voice. He’d hoped this would have gone completely different. If only Clay knew how badly George wanted to run up and hug him. To feel the warmth of his body, to breathe the sweet scent of home that lingered on his clothes. But the past willed him differently.

“Yeah…I guess.” Clay seems to mimic George’s tone. George can see Clay look at him out of the corner of his eye as he still stared at his jacket zipper. He cursed his cheeks for burning red. The third stretch of silence seemed to be the longest, crushing George’s ears as he moved his gaze to his sneaker laces.

“So you work here?” Clay asks.

This provokes George to finally look up again. “Uh, yeah,” he responds.

A small grin creeps its way onto Clay’s cheeks. “Didn’t think you were much of a literature lover,” he says, a hint of humor in his smooth voice.

George begins to loosen up, his worry slightly melted. “Well, here I am,” he says, a small laugh escaping his lips.

Clay gazes around the store. He’d only just discovered it a few weeks ago on his drive home, but he guessed he must’ve missed George’s shift. He wished he didn’t.

Suddenly Clay checks the clock on his phone. “Oh, sorry, you’re supposed to be closed,” he says quickly. He slides his phone back in his pocket.

“It’s okay,” George says, “We sometimes make exceptions.” He wished he didn’t say that last part as his face burned again.

“Well,” Clay starts, “Thanks.” He gazes at George from across the counter, contradicting his implied plans of leaving. God, he wished he didn’t have to. But still he finishes with, “I better go.” He starts to turn around, heading for the large wooden door that leads to the peaceful street outside.

A pang of disappointment hits George straight in the stomach. Please don’t, he wishes.

“Come back anytime,” George calls right before Clay’s hand reaches the handle. The blonde boy turns his head to reveal a warm smile. George missed that smile.

The sound of the door closing echoes through the shop, leaving George standing in awe.


	3. III

The next day contrasted the previous rainy night, filtering light through the bookshop windows as birds sang outside. This type of weather would bring most people happiness: the dazzling sunlight, chirping animals, fresh fall air; but anxiety filled George’s body as he sat in his regular spot behind the register, timidly sorting through books in an attempt to calm his busy mind. Memories of last night’s encounter with his ex-best friend surely hadn’t left his brain, even when he’d laid down to sleep in his quiet apartment the night before. All he saw when he closed his eyes were the green ones he used to know.

The shop was much busier today as it was a sunny Sunday afternoon. The hum of voices and creak of footsteps sounded throughout the quaint building, creating a soft bustle of customers. After about thirty sorted books, George picked up the bin and carried it around the store to return the books to their homes. Searching the isles for the author to match the book was one of his favorite things to do. It allowed him to escape the bustle of the shop and maybe find a new book of his own. This is when George started to relax a bit. Placing the basket down to reach a high shelf, he breathed in the scent of worn paper and leather, belonging to countless stories about all things imaginable.

 _He won’t come back_ , George told himself, letting out a soft breath. _He doesn’t even know my shift_. Although these thoughts calmed his mind, he wished he could ignore the pinch in his heart.

His arm was still extended in a vain attempt to return the book to the shelf when he felt the presence of someone walking up beside him. He heard footsteps come to a sharp halt to his right. He was just about to turn his head to address the customer who he assumed needed assistance when he heard the same warm voice. That damned voice.

“Do you need help with that?”

George swore his heart stopped for a moment. He immediately lowered his arm and turned to meet Clay’s eyes. The same pang he felt last night returned as he gazed at his former friend’s freckled face. He felt as if Clay was towering over him now that he stood closer in the quiet isle of the bookshop. He stared at George with his hands in his sweatshirt pockets, the same grey one he wore during their previous encounter. George held his breath, studying Clay’s blonde waves. _Not this again_.

Then he realized that he still had to respond and not stand there like an idiot.

“Oh, um, I…” George looked down at the book he was holding. “Sure, I guess.” Why couldn’t he just be tall?

Clay held out his hand to receive the green covered book that was handed to him carefully. George watched as the tall boy reached the top shelf with ease, gently placing the book back in its spot. He hated how his eyes flicked to where the blonde’s sweatshirt rose a bit.

“Thanks,” George said, unsure of where to place his eyes. He opted for studying the floorboards.

“No problem,” Clay replied. George could feel him looking at him again, his cheeks warming involuntarily.

There was another one of those awkward silences that felt like hours had passed. This time Clay was the one who spoke up.

“I guess I’ll let you get back to…book…sorting.” He started to turn around, kicking himself for being so awkward. _What the fuck was that?_ Clay thought, cringing internally.

Truthfully, Clay really really didn’t want to let George get back to book sorting. What George didn’t know is that he’d come back to town for the sole reason of reconnecting with his old friend. He lay awake the night he saw him again, staring at the blades of his ceiling fan, wondering how long George had lived so close to him. An hour drive wasn’t necessarily close, but Clay knew it was worth it. He couldn’t be more grateful for that book he found in his attic when he moved out. He decided to give it a read years later as he loved anything to do with poetry, and he noticed the sticker inside that read, “Please return to Abbott Books”. Little did he know, that very sentence would lead him back to George. But his own fear would drive him farther away.

George was about to lose his only chance. All he wanted was for Clay to stay, to want to know him again. He wanted him to forgive George for what he did, for how he left, for what he said. He just wanted his friend back, and he hated what the past did to both of them. So he forgot his racing heart and rapid breaths and took that chance.

“Wait!” George exclaimed, a little louder than he would’ve liked. Clay stopped in his tracks, nearly out of the small isle located in the back of the store. He thought he saw Clay’s shoulders drop in relief, but concluded that he imagined it. The blonde boy turned, a look mixed with shock and a bit of excitement spread across his face. Once again, George was at a loss of words, much less a request. Of course he didn’t think this over. He looked around, searching for an excuse for Clay to stay in the shop. _Think, George, think!_ He tried his best to look calm and collected as his eyes darted to the shelves and back down to his basket. He had it.

“I still need some help sorting the top shelves,” he began timidly, “do you think you can stay?”

Now it was Clay’s turn to be flustered. He definitely did not have this in mind when he came to the bookstore. “Uh, sure,” he replies, trying to keep his voice level to hide the relief he felt. He was actually going to talk to George. George wanted him to stay.

“Okay, thanks,” George says, turning to lift up his basket of books again. He wills himself to walk over to the tall boy, eyes focused on another worn piece of literature to avoid the green ones looking at him. He wondered if this was actually a good idea or not.

They began shelving books one by one, with George handing Clay one at a time for him to reach up and return. This was right about when George realized how unprepared he was for a conversation with his old friend, whom he hadn’t spoken to since high school. In the quiet that held the first few returned books, George racked his mind for something to talk about that wasn’t cliche or cheesy. "How’ve you been?" had already been used, and "I’ve missed you" seemed astronomical in George’s mind. Everything he though of was too forward or to similar to small talk for George to accept, so he almost just gave up before Clay said:

“Just like high school.”

Memories flashed into George’s mind of the two of them shelving books in the school library as their punishment for skipping class. A small smile crept onto his face as he let out a small laugh. “You remember that?” he asks.

 _How couldn’t I?_ “Of course I remember,” Clay smiles, “One can’t forget three hours of detention in the library.”

_Rain drenched the pavement as the two boys’ shoes smacked the ground, faster with each stride. George wiped water from his eyes as his best friend sped in front of him, making a beeline for the parking lot around the back of the brick building. He didn’t know how Clay did this all the time—he felt like his heart was going to burst from his chest. They finally made it to Clay’s car after being absolutely soaked by the summer rainstorm. Clay swung himself into the driver’s seat beside George and pitched his bookbag to the back. George held his in his lap, trembling slightly. He looked at his friend with large chocolate eyes as Clay slicked his dripping hair back. Finally, his friend noticed him staring._

_“What?” Clay asked, half chuckling._

_“I just,” George began, looking around excitedly. “I’ve just never done this before.”_

_Clay grinned at his best friend. He could be so innocent sometimes. So fucking cute sometimes._

_“Oh my god, George, it’s not like we robbed a bank,” Clay laughed, his eyes becoming rainbows as he gazed at his awe-struck companion._

_“How did we get away with this?” George asked, brown eyes meeting green._

_“There’s no way we could get caught, I do this all the time,” Clay replied, searching for his keys in his rain-soaked jeans pockets._

_But the second Clay turned the key in the ignition, a knock was heard at the passenger window. George looked to his right, still laughing from how easy it was to skip that dreaded math class. His face dropped the instant he faced the vice principle of their high school._

_“Uh, Clay?” he said shakily, “I think we just did.”_

George’s heart glows as the recollection as he hands Clay another book. “I can’t believe you made me skip with you,” he says.

Clay quickly looks to George with a look of mock betrayal. “I did not make you, you wanted to do it!”

George laughs again, this time with a wide smile. That Monday George earned his first day in detention, but he knew it was worth it. He could still remember the way the rain looked on Clay’s eyelashes, the droplets making his emerald eyes sparkle.

“Yeah, whatever,” he retorted, grinning at the near-empty basket. George’s shift was nearing a close, but be didn’t want it to end. He didn’t want this to end, him laughing with Clay, like nothing ever happened between them. Just like high school.

The same thoughts were floating through Clay’s mind as well. He didn’t want to have to get back in his car and drive back to his lonely apartment, just him and his cat. He didn’t want things to go back to the way they were, with him missing his best friend every day since he left. His thumb hovering over George’s contact, ready to press the call button but quickly clicking off his phone. His heart aching every time he drove by his old school on the way to visit his family. George used to be his family, too.

The quiet returned and both realized the circumstance they were in. The hum of customers had ceased long ago as the sun sunk in the colorful sky. George held the empty basket drearily, readying for the pang to return when Clay would say he had to go. But George had no idea that Clay wasn’t about to give up his chance like George had so long ago.

“So um,” Clay began, running a hand through his hair, “you wanna, maybe, get some coffee or something?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i honestly really like the way this chapter turned out, so i hope you guys like it too! i'll start working on the next chapter very soon <3


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a rlly fun chapter to write !! i'll probably have the next one out shortly because i can't wait to keep this story going :) thank y'all for all the kudos and kind messages, it really means the world <33
> 
> btw,,, this work will contain 6 chapters! hope y'all enjoy !

George couldn’t believe he was sitting in a coffeeshop awaiting his friend’s return. He couldn’t believe he was actually talking to the person who he’d missed for four years and never told him. The walk over was quite pleasant, but there was still that translucent layer that spread over the two of them, blocking the reality of the situation. It consisted of small talk and a few jokes, of which earned a few laughs from both boys. Some chat about the bookstore and how George got the job from a distant family member, insight into his future plans of becoming a literary analyst which surprised Clay more than ever—he never thought George was into literature. He would always drone on about how boring English was when Clay appreciated it so much. What Clay didn’t know is that he actually inspired George to explore the world of literature. It reminded George of him.

Staring down at his lap as he chewed on his lip, George sat and waited for his friend and his drink to arrive. The soft, warm light of the shop illuminated the dark wooden tables, the scent of freshly-brewed coffee enveloping George like a gentle hug. Presses and machinery sounded lightly in the background behind chattering voices, with 4 o’clock being the busiest time of the day. The cozy building was just big enough to hold the rush of people, creating a comfortable atmosphere.

“Still not much of a coffee person?” A warm voice sounded above George, making him look up from his study of his trousers. He met Clay’s eyes as he sat down and slid a small covered cup in front of him.

“Nope, nothing’s changed,” George replied, sliding his cold hands around the steaming cup of tea. He noted that Clay remembered this preference, willing his heart to stop glowing.

Clay took a sip of his drink, of which George presumed was some type of latte. He knew Clay didn’t really mind coffee, but never drank it black. He watched his friend as Clay gazed around the shop, the warm light complimenting his freckled face. His hair glowed a shiny golden as it reflected bits of light, falling near-perfectly along his forehead. Clay’s face turned back to his left and George realized that he was staring. Thankfully, he caught himself in time and immediately looked away. Or, at least, that’s what he thought.

“So…” Clay began, placing his drink down on the table. “What have you been up to for the last four years?”

 _Thinking about you_.

“Just working, really,” George lied. “Not much to do. What about you?” This question seemed stupid to George. He knew exactly what Clay had been doing—he’d watched his dreams come true.

“Uhm, well, remember that Youtube thing I started in high school?” Clay asked. George nodded. “Well, my channel kinda took off and that’s what I’m doing now.”

“Oh, that’s great,” George smiled, feigning surprise. “So you’re like, famous now, right?” He laughed, and Clay followed suit.

“I wouldn’t say that,” the blonde said, looking down with a smile. “Only a few million subscribers.”

_Nine._

George suppressed a laugh as he pretended to be shocked again. “Million? Wow, Clay, you should be really proud.”

Clay sucked in a breath when George mentioned his name. “Thanks, I guess I am.”

Both met each other’s eyes yet again, but this time the connection had some sort of a glow. George gazed into Clay’s half-squinted smiling eyes, emeralds still visible from four feet away. He felt like his breathing stopped as his vision focused only on his friend. In this moment, he took in the reality of it all. He was here, speaking to Clay, laughing with Clay. It was almost as if they were the only two people in the room, the bustle around them dying away. He thought he would never get this again when he left that stormy night. He thought he’d lost Clay forever. But here he was. And he couldn’t express the amount of joy that he felt as he proved himself wrong.

Almost an hour passed of the two catching up—Clay telling George all about his creative journey from Youtube to Twitch streaming. Of course, George already knew all of this. He'd never stopped supporting Clay even after he left. As his friend explained the happiness Youtube gave him, George remembered one night when he tuned into Clay’s stream after one of the longest days at college. He’d studied for three final exams in 12 hours and couldn’t force himself to read one more page of his textbook. So, when the notification popped up on his phone alerting him that “dreamwastaken went live!”, he let out a sigh of relief, a smile growing upon his lips. He ended up falling asleep to the whole four hour stream that night, waking up with his phone still in his hand the next morning. He credited Clay for getting him through his toughest days. Hearing his voice on stream or in a video almost felt as if he was still there. But what hurt the most was when the video ended, and George had to remember that he wasn’t there. And he wasn’t there because of him.

The crowd of people had eventually cleared, leaving the coffeeshop quiet with the slight murmur of remaining customers. It had grown darker outside, a light shade of orange seeping its way into the blue sky. George checked his phone, reading 6:32 pm. The two boys had just finished a light conversation about how much their old town had changed, filling them with nostalgia. This sparked inspiration into George’s mind as he finished the last bit of liquid in his recyclable cup.

“Remember that parking garage we always went to?” George asked Clay, looking out to his right at the developing sunset.

“Yeah, I do,” George heard Clay reply.

He looked back towards his friend, pointing out the window. He smiled. “I think we should go back.”

The breeze was cool walking toward Clay’s car as colored leaves from twigged trees fell around the two boys. Orange, pink, and purple streaks highlighted the sky, illuminating everything around them with a deep spectrum of colors. Clay walked slightly in front beside George, leading the way to the near-empty parking lot a few blocks from bookshop. The tangerine light outlined his figure: he was a few inches taller than the elder with broader shoulders than George remembered. George’s eyes followed the silhouette and he chewed on his lip. Clay had really changed since he left.

They were a few minutes out from the car when George felt a sudden breeze gust against him, the cold air flooding through the fabric of his sweater. He shivered and grabbed his upper arms for warmth. Clay looked back and noticed this, slowing to a stop. He started to take off his sweatshirt, a long sleeve underneath.

“Here,” He said as he gently offered his friend the warm article.

George immediately refused out of courtesy. “No, really, it’s fine-” He began, but in vain.

“George,” Clay pressed kindly, blinking his gaze into George’s. “I know you get cold.”

Finding his shoes with a soft smile, the brown-haired boy accepted the sweatshirt and slid it on. He wrapped his hands around the ends of the sleeves, with them being slightly oversized. At this moment, a lurching feeling erupted in George’s stomach. He realized that the first—and only—time he’d ever worn his friend’s sweatshirt was one of the scariest days of his life.

It was a day that resembled the current one.

_Trees barren of life with brown grass covered the school’s expansive yard. It was one of the last days before winter break and George was counting them down. It seemed like the day had gone on forever, leaving George to gaze out the window in the back of the room carelessly as his teacher reviewed material for the upcoming exam season. He turned his pencil in his fingers, looking for a way to make time go by faster. Resting his chin on his hand, he longed to leave the dreary, freezing classroom and crawl under his covers to get some desperately-needed sleep. He shivered once again, spreading goosebumps all along his arms. He put his hands under his legs in an attempt to warm them, flattening them on the plastic chair below._

_Suddenly, he felt something soft and crinkly hit him right above his ear. He looked down to his left to find a small ball of paper by his feet, then up to reveal his best friend grinning, keeping in a laugh. He waved like a dork, causing George to stifle a giggle of his own. Clay plucked at the collar of his hoodie and pointed to George. "You want this?" he mouthed._

_George wondered why he felt a pinch in his stomach. He nodded, mouthing back, "It’s fucking freezing."_

_He turned back to the front of the classroom, making sure as to not draw attention to the two who were clearly not listening to their instructor. George could see Clay slide his sweatshirt off and bundle it in his hands. He discreetly reached across, meeting George’s grip with the soft fabric. He met his friend’s brown eyes again and George smiled in thanks. Sliding his arms in first, George pulled the sweatshirt over his brown hair. He was immediately met with the calming scent of his best friend. He felt himself melt into the warmth of the clothing, his heart glowing. He felt a few butterflies form in his stomach. But the second he realized this, he felt uneasy, almost sick even. He wasn’t supposed to feel like that. He wasn’t allowed to. That wasn’t right. This wasn’t right. He can’t. He won’t. So the minute the bell rang for class to dismiss, he quickly removed Clay’s sweatshirt and returned it into his hands, hurrying to his next class without anything but a, “see you later.”_

From that day on, everything about Clay felt different to George. He felt himself become anxious whenever they spent time together, wondering if anything he did came off the wrong way. Or at least what George thought was wrong. The sick feeling would come back every time he saw Clay’s eyes sparkle in the sunlight, or when Clay would turn over in his sleep when he spent the night at George’s, unaware of how close he was to him. George hated the way he felt. He hated the way he was. He hated himself. And soon enough, his mind began to make him think he hated his best friend, too.

But this time was different. George wasn’t near the person he was in high school now. Over time, he learned to accept himself for how he was, no matter what. He was at a place he thought he would never get to, forming into the human he was always meant to be. He thought he’d never get to tell him, but Clay became the person who encouraged George to become comfortable with who he was, how he was, and who he loved. He longed to tell his friend how eternally grateful he was.

The drive to the parking garage was comfortably long, allowing the boys to remember old songs they used to blast together and stories of midnight drives after they snuck out past their curfews. Seeing George laugh from the passenger seat with the fading sunset painting his pale face lit a fire inside Clay that he forgot he had. The past four years had been so lonely without him. Being in this moment now made it impossible for Clay to imagine what life felt like without George. He didn’t know how he made it through without his gentle giggle, his caring demeanor, his perfectly-matched sense of humor. Clay had always known that he was meant for George, even if George wasn’t meant for him. That was the hardest part about him leaving: Clay knew he wouldn’t find anyone that was better for him than his best friend was.

George forgot how beautiful the view was on top of the parking garage they went to when they were younger. The distant city lights glowed yellow among the darkness of the cold night, creating a sea of star-like lights below. The breeze was much cooler up here, blowing stronger so that brown wisps made their way in front of George’s eyes. He swept them away, turning his head all around to take in the sight he hadn’t seen in years. He stood in front of Clay, putting his hands on the stone barrier that ran along the perimeter of the building. He marveled at the sight.

Clay thought his heart might burst from how beautiful George looked in the moonlight. “You wanna climb to the spot?” He asked.

George turned around with an excited smile. “Yeah, let’s go.”

The two boys walked towards the small concrete building near the far corner of the roof that provided the best view of the town. It was quite tall, and there wasn’t a ladder, so Clay hoisted his long body up first, turning and leaning down past the edge to help his friend up. Once he did this, memories all rushed back to him of how they used to come here almost every Friday night. They spend hours laughing, talking about the future and how they’d be friends until the day they died. Clay would always say he’d kill George if he went before him.

A hand stretched down in front of George’s eyes as he stood, still on the floor of the roof.

“You coming?” Clay asked, hair falling in front of his eyes as he leaned over the edge.

George took the invitation and pulled himself up, only when he did this, he was raised much quicker than before. This forced him off balance when he stood up on top of the concrete building, swaying to the side drastically. He felt a strong hand grip his shoulder and an arm behind his lower back, steadying him to keep him from falling over. He grabbed the arms of the being in front of him reflexively. The moment he did this, he realized how close he was to Clay. He could feel the warmth radiating off of his body, which was only inches from him. He willed his eyes to shyly look up, brown meeting green in an instant. George swore his heart stopped then and there. He forgot how soft Clay’s face became when he looked at him, emeralds focusing on nothing but George. Golden waves floated with the chilly wind, almost touching George’s flushed face.

It felt like hours had passed before George reluctantly let go of his friend’s arms, shuffling his feet to back up slightly. Both of Clay’s arms slid off his body. “Thanks,” he half-laughed. “I forgot how hard it was to get up here.” He was grateful for the dark as his face had to be beet-red.

“It’s been a while hasn’t it,” Clay replied, following George’s gaze out to the city below.

George breathed a deep breath of the night air. “It sure has.”


	5. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh sorry for the wait !! i was honestly scared to write this one because,,,,my heart :((( no spoilers though ;)
> 
> also thank y'all for almost 100 kudos and nearly 1,000 hits?? what?? thank you !!
> 
> i hope you enjoy <333

The last time Clay and George met on that tall building was the night George thought he’d regret for the rest of his life. The night that changed him. The night that changed everything.

_It was another cold night, the wind rushing over George’s pink face, sending chills down his spine. He pulled his hoodie over his head, enveloping his ears in warm fabric. He was waiting for his best friend, who said he’d be there thirty minutes ago. George expected this delay as Clay was always late to things. He wished his friend would hurry up, though. He didn’t prefer to be by himself, alone with his thoughts. They’d become much more persistent within the last month. Ever since he wore Clay’s sweatshirt. Since he felt those butterflies in his chest._

_A few stoplight rotations went by on the street below before he heard quick footsteps below the concrete building that separated George from the roof floor. Some scuffling was heard as George turned around, facing his friend as he climbed up the wall. He met eyes with Clay, whose state was ruffled: messy hair, slightly lopsided hood. The darkness concealed George’s clenched jaw as he suppressed a jump in his stomach. The soreness of this repeated action was slowly weakening._

_“Hey,” Clay said, breathlessly, “Sorry I’m late.” He pushed himself up to his feet, walking over to stand beside where George was sitting with his feet dangling off the side._

_“It’s fine,” George lied, “It’s nice up here anyways.”_

_But it’s nicer here with you._

_Another clenched jaw._

_Clay took a deep breath, slowing his labored breathing from rushing here. “I had to convince my parents to let me out tonight.”_

_“Did it work?” George asked, eyebrow raised as he kept his eyes on the twinkling horizon. He knew the answer before he even asked the question. Clay snuck out almost every weekend._

_Clay snorted and waited a beat. “Nope.”_

_George brushed a piece of windblown hair out of his eyes as he asked his friend, “Was your day okay?”_

_“Yeah, it was alright,” He responded, leaning his elbows on the edge of the stone banister beside where George was sitting. “School was boring.”_

_“Yeah, the thirty minutes you were even there?” George laughed, turning to smile at his friend. He was expecting Clay to laugh along with him, but when he faced him, he saw eyes that conveyed something he didn’t see much in his best friend. They were turned down, studying the bustling city below. They weren’t angry, but they weren’t calm either. They weren’t sad, but…lost. “Oh…I’m…sorry,” George replied, face dropping with concern._

_“No it’s okay,” Clay responded quickly, reassuringly. “It’s not you.”_

_Relief flooded George’s body, glad that he wasn’t the one to make his friend upset. He hated when he did that, the few times he did._

Oh, what he would’ve known then.

_George didn’t want to press, but he wanted to know what was wrong with Clay. He wanted to help him, because heaven knew George felt the same way. “Is there…any way I can help?”_

_Clay exhaled, running a hand through his blonde hair. George could see the him chew on the inside of his cheek. He shook his head, eyes still glued to the ground below._

_George could guess what was getting to Clay. He’d slowly been attending less and less class at school, and always talked to George about how much he wanted to quit. He hated having to go to school when he’d much rather be working on his actual career. He felt like everyday was useless. It didn’t help that his parents refused the pitch every time Clay would bring up online school. So, in return, he’d started sneaking out every chance he could, skipping class, finding every way he could go against them. He felt like he needed to retaliate. Give them hell if they wouldn’t let him pursue his dreams._

_Clay hung his head there, eyes downcast. George would give anything in the world for his friend to be happy. He hated seeing him like this. He wished he could rip that burden off of his shoulders and tie it to his own. After all, he valued his best friend’s happiness over his own._

_Though the only thing George knew he could do was be there for him. He placed a gentle hand on Clay’s back, moving his thumb in soft motions along the thick fabric of his black sweatshirt. Below his palm he could feel his friend relax, letting out another long exhale. He saw his face soften, tired eyes dropping shut. Clay leaned his head down on his hands which were crossed in front of him._

_“I’m just glad I’m here now.” He paused breathing deep. “With you.”_

_George wished he’d never said that. He wished he could turn back time and take that glow out of his chest. He bit his lip harder than he thought he could bear. Why, he thought, drearily. Why me?_

_Against his will, he felt, he leaned to his left, sliding his hand around to Clay’s side, pulling his friend in to his shoulder. It’s like Clay was waiting for that movement, immediately wrapping his arms around his best friend’s body while George’s crossed, holding Clay’s shoulders. Warmth radiated from his friend’s body as George ran a hand along Clay’s head, his fingers feeling his soft hair. Clay buried his head into George’s neck, the fabric of his hoodie shielding his face from making contact with his cold skin. He felt the younger boy hold him tighter, and George appreciated this. He didn’t want to let go. He didn’t want this moment to end, just them and the still night air. He didn’t want to ignore those feelings he’d been feeling any longer. He wanted to do what his body had been telling him to do since the day he felt something for Clay. He just wanted to feel okay again._

_They stayed there for nearly three minutes, the two boys finding peace within each other’s arms. After a long moment of whistling gusts, Clay pulled back slightly, meeting his green eyes to brown. George didn’t know why Clay’s face was so close to his, or why he was studying George’s wind-chapped cheeks, his freckled nose. His parted lips._

_George swallowed hard. He looked into his best friend’s eyes, heart feeling like it would burst any second now. “Clay…” he trailed off, his eyes finding the other’s lips in return._

_“Yeah?” his friend responded lowly, not moving his eyes. George’s spine shivered at the deepness of the reply._

_George reciprocated the tone, almost whispering. “What are you doing?”_

_“…I don’t know” Clay’s response was barely heard, mixing with the sound of the wind. He almost couldn’t get it out before his lips crashed into his best friend’s._

_George had to strain to remember what happened next. He knew Clay’s lips were soft and gentle, fitting near perfectly with his own. The first kiss was timid, asking for approval, if it was okay for him to be doing this. Clay pulled back an inch, his eyes clouded with emotion. George swallowed again, meeting his friend’s level eyes and nodding ever so slightly. The taller took his chance and lowered his head back in, turning it to the side. Wrapping his arms tighter around Clay’s shoulders, George let himself fully relax and focus only on his best friend. He felt strong arms hold his body tighter, a rush of adrenaline flowing through him. The kiss grew deeper. He ran his cold fingers through Clay’s blonde hair, pulling just slightly. This drew a quick inhale and a hand to grip the back of George’s sweatshirt. It would’ve been perfect, this moment here with Clay. George was finally letting go of the fear and hatred for himself he’d been tormented with for the past few months. He finally felt free of it all. Until the sick feeling came washing back, faster than the speed of light._

_George’s hands quickly moved to Clay’s chest, pushing him away suddenly. Their lips broke and George’s face turned to the side in an instant, not able to look at his best friend ever the same again._

_“Why did you do that,” George demanded, more than asking._

_“I-George I’m sorry, you-“_

_“I didn’t do anything, Clay,” George lied, more to himself. He felt like the world was spinning around him._

_Silence fell between the two, crushing George’s ears. He knew what he did, and he didn’t want to blame Clay. It wasn’t his fault. But he couldn’t stop himself._

_“What the fuck was that? I-I’m not like that,” George stuttered, swinging his legs around the banister and sliding himself down, shoving his hands into his pockets._

_“George, I’m sorry,” Clay said softly, barely loud enough to hear. Just those three words made George’s eyes sting, a feeling worse than he’d ever felt rushing deep into his chest._

_“I just-“ He started, turning to stare at his friend’s shoes, “I’ll see you later.”_

_He brushed past Clay as the first tear fell. He didn’t hear his best friend say anything else. All he heard was his own sobs and the roaring sound of his heart breaking in his chest._


	6. VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> omg. it's finally here. i finally wrote it !! last chapter !! I'm gonna fucking cry !!
> 
> i just want to say a huge thank you to everyone who stuck around to finish this story. thank you for being patient with me because fluctuating interests and strenuous schedules have made it very difficult to finish this story. this is actually the first story that i have ever finished and i'm really fucking proud of it.
> 
> also...over 200 kudos ?? 2500+ hits ?? beyond anything i'd imagined for this story. thank you <3
> 
> enjoy the last chapter. here are some tissues in advance. :)

George thought he would never sit on top of this building ever again. He imagined the night he cried the whole way home would be the last time he felt the night air against his pale face atop that parking garage. But here he was, sitting with Clay, like he used to all those years ago. It didn't feel real. It felt like a dream. A dream he never, ever wanted to wake up from.

"I was actually up here a few weeks ago," Clay broke the air with his warm voice.

This statement provoked curiosity in George. "Oh, interesting," he said. "Any reason in particular?" He wondered if Clay thought of him. He hoped he did.

A breezy silence passed. George turned his head to his left to find Clay's eyes gazing into the glowing sea of stars below.

"Just needed to clear my head," the blonde replied. George was shocked at this revealing sentence. He appreciated Clay's honesty.

Fiddling with the sweatshirt sleeves that were still wrapped over his fingers, George replied again. "Oh."

 _Shit_ , Clay thought, _that was fucking weird_. He immediately snapped his eyes away from the dark horizon and down to his own hands. "Sorry, that was weird," he said, attempting to laugh it off.

"No it's okay," George reassured him, looking up to meet his eyes. He revealed a small smile.

Clay exhaled and his mouth turned up as he looked back down to his lap. "Okay. Thanks."

The wind whistled through their warm bodies as time passed slowly, allowing each of them to take in the nostalgic view. It was getting late now, nearing 10 o'clock, and the sound of tires on the road below was dwindling with each passing minute. Soon it felt as though they were the only two in the world, a feeling they cherished when they were kids.

A multitude of minutes passed before Clay spoke up again, braved by the older's reassurance. Braved by the coffee shop where they finally talked about their lives again. Braved by the car ride that felt like nothing had ever changed between them. Braved by the feeling that this was his shot, and he would never forgive himself if he didn't take it.

"A lot has changed since we were last up here."

A mix of emotions filled George's body as he took in the weight of Clay's words. Sadness. Longing. Anger.

Guilt.

George bit his bottom lip, wanting to say a million words at once. But he couldn't even muster one.

He felt his former best friend turn his head to gaze at him, wishing time could reverse so he could take back every word that he'd said.

"I wished you would've stayed, George."

_It felt like salt had never left his eyes the weekend that everything changed. It had been exactly two days since George ruined the best thing that he'd ever had, and he hadn't stopped thinking about it one minute. His gaze pierced the black screen on his phone, willing it to stay silent and not bring up his best friend's contact with an "accept call" button. Twenty-seven, he'd counted. More than double the texts. He stopped reading them after the third one came through. He couldn't bring himself to believe that it was over. Nothing would ever be the same again._

_George laid down on his bed, hugging a nearby pillow that was already spotted with teardrops. He hadn't left his room yet today and it was nearing sunset. He'd told his mother that he wasn't feeling well when she'd knocked this morning, concerned that he hadn't eaten dinner the previous night. And the night before that. George couldn't bear the thought of eating. He felt as if his stomach was in a perpetual state of pain._

_He was about to allow himself to fall into another restless, useless sleep when he heard the whirr of an engine below his bedroom window. He looked outside through the sheets of blowing rain to find a familiar car he wished he'd never see again. George felt as if he'd swallowed a bag of rocks. He blinked once, twice, three times, clearing his misty eyes. He couldn't be seeing this right. He hoped he didn't. That was until he saw the blonde head pop out of the driver's side door._

_George raced down his stairs, almost tripping several times, rushing to the front door. But right when his hand found the handle he stopped dead in his tracks. Did he really want to do this? Did he really know what to say? Was he going to make it out of this?_

_He knew what he had to do, but he wished more than anything in the world that it didn't have to be this way. But it did._

_The sound of rain hitting grass, leaves, and concrete crept through the doorway as George slowly pushed it open. He didn't want to meet Clay's eyes so he opted for staring at his friend's now-soaked sneakers._

_"What are you doing here?" George called off the covered porch into the storm, almost yelling over the noise. He couldn't decipher which one was louder: the rain or the pounding in his chest._

_He still didn't look up when his friend responded. "You've been ignoring my calls. And my texts."_

_George's eyes studied individual blades of grass. "I haven't been on my phone."_

_Clay wouldn't take this as a valid response. "George, you and I both know damn well that's a lie."_

_Shit. George should've known this wasn't going to be easy. He racked his brain for a response, but Clay didn't give him time to come up with one._

_"We can't just act like nothing happened Friday night."_

_"Stop!" George's head shot up. "Nothing did happen!" He tore his eyes from the ground in an instant, bringing them to meet Clay's. His now-brown hair was dripping from the rain despite his raincoat._

_Clay started, "George-"_

_"No, don't do that." Brown eyes burned into green. "Don't say my name like that." He was audibly fighting the butterflies he hated so much._

_Clay took a step forward, his shoes splashing in a puddle on the sidewalk. "Nothing is wrong with what happened, George-"_

_"I said stop saying my name like that." That was the angriest Clay had ever heard his friend. He stopped moving forward in shock._

_George continued, staring straight into his best friend's bewildered face. "Stop talking to me like I'm hurt. Stop holding me when I'm upset, or bringing me my favorite food after I failed a test," tears filled his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time in the past two days. "Stop playing with my hair when I'm half asleep at night, and stop smiling when I say some stupid joke that doesn't even have a punchline. Stop telling me that I'm the best thing that's ever happened to you, and stop putting me above everything else in your life, even yourself. Just please, please stop making me love you." His voice broke beyond his will._

_The rain continued through the still between the two. Clay didn't know what to say. His mouth stayed partly open, hurt and confusion washing over him in a terrible mixture._

_"I can't do this anymore," George said, voice shaky, looking down at his socks. He didn't know how he said the next two words. It didn't feel real._

_"Goodbye, Clay."_

_The door shut, leaving a broken blonde boy in tears within the relentless rain pouring around him._

George's heart sank at the terrible memories of what he'd said and done to his best friend. He really did remember it like George did. He tried to find the right words to say, anything to mend the wounds that felt as though they would never heal within both of them.

But all George could say was, "I'm so sorry, Clay."

Emeralds swam and sparkled as they kept their gaze with chocolate brown. "It's been lonely for so long," Clay said.

Nothing in George's entire life amounted to the feeling of grief and utter regret he was experiencing in this moment. He would give anything to go back to that day and run into his best friend's arms, never leaving them again. But he couldn't do that. So he believed that the best thing he could do for himself was to let him back in, and this time for good.

In an instant, George wrapped his arms around his best friend's body, head resting against his chest so that he could hear Clay's heart moving at one hundred miles per hour. He felt strong arms hold him in place, bringing long-awaited tears to his eyes with a mix of guilt and relief. The warmth he felt radiating from Clay's body was better than anything he'd felt in the last four years, his familiar scent making the tears fall faster.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, curling his fingers in the fabric of Clay's shirt. "I'm so sorry."

Clay ran his fingers through George's brown hair, holding his head to his chest. "It's okay, George," he choked out. He held the side of George's face, wiping tears away. The last four years were the hardest years of his life so far, but he felt the wait was worth it from the relief glowing through him.

"I never meant for anything to happen," George sobbed, voice muffled from fabric. "I never wanted it to end."

A gentle hand brought George's face to meet Clay's gaze. The younger helped more tears away from his friend's eyes. "I'm still here, George. It's alright."

George felt a feeling that could only be described as pure joy surge through him from head to toe, giving him the first genuine smile he'd felt in four long years. He didn't know what came over him, but the next thing he knew his lips crashed into his best friend's. He held Clay closer with each passing second, feeling like he could never let him go. Clay still held George's face, tender and sweet, taking in the moment for as long as he possibly could. The last tear fell from both of their sparkling eyes as George pulled back, breathing rapidly. 

"I've never stopped loving you," he told his best friend, chocolate eyes never wavering from his gaze.

"Please never leave me again," Clay said, half smiling, beaming as he realized that his soulmate had come back to him.

"Never," George said, and he knew he truly meant it. He would be with his best friend from now until forever, and nothing could ever change his mind.


End file.
